


Weary from the Road

by thesleepynymph



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Iliad - Homer, Troy (2004)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Come Swallowing, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Oral Sex, POV Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24257560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesleepynymph/pseuds/thesleepynymph
Summary: Achilles returns to his hometown after years away and receives a warm welcome from his lover, Patroclus. Likely, part of an  ongoing work. Looking for feedback!
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus of Opus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Kudos: 50





	Weary from the Road

Achilles knows the paths of Pthia like the lines of his palm, the river that pulses through the city, the dirt walks between the houses of laborers and fishermen, the stone road that leads to his father’s castle. Each feel familiar beneath is well-worn sandals. Achilles stoops on the shore to drink from the raging waters of Spercheois. The water is even cooler and cleaner than his memory, nothing like the brackish water on the triremes. Achilles admires his father’s home, the whitewashed towers perched over the city. But this is not where he’s going.  
At the edge of town, among the terraced olive orchards, Achilles follows a dirt path to an ochre home with light glowing from the windows. All the weariness of road and war fades from his body. Achilles would run, if not for his sprained ankle. From the threshold, Achilles smells the fire in the hearth and the bread baking for dinner. The door swings open for Achilles even knocks.  
“Is that Achilles?” The voice is as warm as the fire.  
“Patroclus.”  
They embrace. Achilles feels Patroclus’ beard pressed against his neck. It smells of mint and oil. Achilles cheeks grow little more than peach fuzz and he always envied Patroclus’ more robust facial hair.  
Patroclus pulls away, keeping his hands on Achilles’ shoulders. “You’re filthy.”  
Achilles turns away self consciously. “I left Athens a week ago and haven’t paused to rest.”  
“You look rugged,” Patroclus says, “much less polished than the Prince Achilles who left us years ago.”  
“Well you look exactly the same.”  
“That can’t be true. Too many years have passed since we last saw each other and I’ve gained far too many grey hairs.”  
“You look distinguished, like a poet.”  
“Well, I’m starting to have the eyesight of one. I could barely recognize you from the threshold.”  
A growl rumbles through Achilles’ stomach. He knows he ate at some point along the road, but can’t remember when.  
“You must be starving,” Patroclus says.  
He hurries to the hearth and removes a clay pot from the coals. He tips the pot out onto the nearby table, revealing a steaming loaf of bread. Achilles sits and watches the curves and angles of Patroclus’ body as he works. They were boys when they were last together, Patroclus thin and lanky, Achilles short but solid. Patroclus has filled out, likely from the long workdays on the farm. Achilles admires his broad shoulders and thick thighs. If he weren’t so tired, he’d take Patroclus right there on the kitchen table, taste his body for the first time in years.  
Patroclus offers him a plate of bread and olive oil. The meal warms Achilles’ body. Patroclus leaves and returns with a rag, a pumice stone, and a pot of water.  
“If I’m letting you in my bed tonight, you’re not going to track filth from every corner of Greece.”  
“If?”  
Patroclus smiles and removes Achilles’ sandals. “So, did you find the glory you were seeking? Is that why you’ve returned?”  
“Glory is the moon and I am but a dog. I can bark at her all I want, but I’ll never actually catch her.”  
“So you’ve come to wallow among us lowly Myrmidons?” Patroclus scrubs at the calluses on Achilles’ heels.  
“I’ve come home to watch your beard turn white.”  
Patroclus blushes. “You’ve given it up then? Your life as a warrior?”  
Achilles nods, swallowing the last morsel of bread and setting the plate on the table beside him. “I’ll no longer be the hired hand for some petty king who wants to spite his neighbor.”  
Patroclus rings out the rag and begins moving it up Achilles’ leg. The water is cool and Patroclus breath is warm against Achilles’ skin. Their eyes lock as Patroclus’ hands move further and further Achilles’ body. Achilles grips the side of his chair in anticipation. His cock stiffens beneath his tunic.  
Patroclus presses the cloth against Achilles’ inner thigh. The warrior shivers.  
“Was that too cold? I could take a break and heat up the water?”  
Achilles’ clamps his hand over Patroclus’. “Keep going.”  
Patroclus uses his free hand to untie Achilles’ loincloth. Achilles sighs. His cock stands fully erect.  
Patroclus clicks his tongue. “Now this part is particularly dirty. I think I’ll need something stronger than water to get this clean.”  
Patroclus beard tickles Achilles’ inner thigh as he kisses around the warrior’s cock. “So dirty,” he whispers after each kiss.   
Finally, his lips land on the tip of Achilles’ cock. Achilles’ feels the warmth of Patroclus’ mouth envelope him. It’s not as though Achilles had been chaste since he left Pthia. There had been men and even a few women to warm his bed, but everytime he would end up thinking about Patroclus, how much better it would have been with him. Patroclus hands massage Achilles’ thighs as his tongue slides up and down the warrior’s cock.  
“You taste exactly the same,” Patroclus says.  
Achilles whines at the absence of Patroclus mouth.  
Patroclus laughs. “Oh, you want me to keep going? Oh, excuse me, I thought I was done. You want more?”  
Achilles is so close in hurt. The pleasure glows from his dick to the tips of his ears. He can’t even speak.  
Patroclus swallows the warriors cock, gagging on its length.  
“I’m so,” Achilles gasps, “I’m so-”  
But he comes before he can finish the sentence, shooting warm jizz down Patroclus’ throat. Calm and warmth radiate throughout his body. All the weariness from the road, pain from his injuries fade. Not since he left Pthia has he felt so relaxed. It’s then that exhaustion finally overtakes him and he drifts to sleep slumped against the table.  
Patroclus takes a swig of wine and laughs. He retrieves the rag from between Achilles legs and finishes washing the sleeping warrior.


End file.
